Smoke and Mirrors
by brookemopolitan
Summary: The announcement of the Third Quarter Quell and beyond from the perspective of our favourite Escort, who might just be more rebellious than she appears. Rating for safety regarding grown up times. Hayffie without shame. (do we warn for spoilers here?)
1. Chapter 1

**So... apparently I'm a little bit addicted to writing HG fic. No complaints here. I'm really enjoying exploring this brave new world. Please let me know if I'm hitting the mark or not! There is some *ahem* grown up content in this chapter, but I've been as tasteful as possible when writing it (because sometimes smut can just be icky, and I'm not keen on writing that at all).**

**At this stage, I don't make explicit reference to my head canon regarding how Effie became an Escort, but I may in the future... If you're interested, check out Casting Lots on my profile.**

**I got gold polish for my Christmas pedicure out of solidarity with District 12 and I've perfected my 74th Reaping manicure... do you think I own the Hunger Games?**

* * *

Haymitch was slowly working himself into a drunken stupor. Just when he'd believed that Snow could stoop no lower and value human life less, he'd gone ahead and announced the twist in the Third Quarter Quell. He stood a fifty/fifty chance of returning to the arena and Katniss was likely doomed to her death.

He'd made so many promises… He'd sworn to Katniss that he wouldn't let Peeta die. Haymitch liked the baker's kid. He was a genuinely good example of humanity and the promise he'd managed to extract from Haymitch a second time for Katniss's safety weighed heavily on his mind.

He was most concerned about the promises he'd made to Plutarch about protecting the Mockingjay. Heavensbee was insistent that Katniss was the linchpin of the entire revolution… the District kid who flipped the bird to the big, bad Capitol.

All Haymitch had to do was deliver her in one piece.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. He wanted to throw something, but he'd already wasted a bottle of his strictly rationed and highly contraband white liquor. He wouldn't be making that mistake again.

There was a knock at the door.

It was well and truly after nightfall. Thread's curfew was still firmly in place, so a knock at the door so close to midnight could hardly be a neighbour popping by for a spot of tea.

The well-worn handle of his knife in his palm was a familiar companion and it filled him with a quiet confidence as he slunk towards the door, his bare feet almost silent against the hardwood floor.

"Effie?" he grunted when he swung the door open. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

She could only stare at him, blue eyes wide; the proverbial deer in the headlights. "I don't know what came over me," she gasped. "I should leave."

He managed to snag her arm before she stepped off the balcony of his house, the drunken haze he was in making it difficult for him to process exactly why District Twelve's Escort was on his doorstep, noticeably devoid of the Capitol fripperies she usually adorned herself in. "Are you fucking crazy?" He demanded, dragging her into the house. "Peacekeepers are shooting down anything and anyone that moves after dark. Your address in the Capitol's chicest location won't count for shit with them."

He expected her to hiss at him about manners as he hustled her though the house. She didn't say a word about the broken glass on the floor near his television, nor did she mention the empty bottles that served as the only decoration in the house. The only reaction he got from her was a slight wrinkle of her nose at the lingering smell of vomit in the air.

He slumped down on the couch, removing the cork from a half drunk bottle with his teeth. "Talk, Princess," he demanded. "What the hell are you doing here?"

She gave a strangled little sigh. "I saw the Quarter Quell announcement," she murmured. "I have no idea what came over me. But once the shock subsided and I could think beyond the utter unfairness of it all, one thing remained clear to me. I needed to be here." She hesitated for a moment, but gathered her courage and reached for his hand. "I am so sorry, Haymitch," she murmured.

He took a long swig of his drink, but didn't shrug her hand away. "There's only one person responsible for this, and it's not you, Sweetheart," he rumbled.

A strange sense of warmth thrilled through Effie's chest at the use of his endearment, noticeably devoid of his usual malice. "I'm the one who chooses who lives and dies," she tugged her hair free of the sloppy bun she'd twisted it into on the train. "This is wrong, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry that they've taken your control over your life away, again and I'm sorry for the part I'm going to play in it."

The pain in Haymitch's eyes was agonising and Effie had to look away.

"We didn't have a Mentor," Haymitch recalled, swirling the liquor in the bottom of his glass. "The year of my Games, it was just the four of us and we had no idea what the fuck to do," he smirked, staring at a shard of glass wedged in the floor across the room. "The last piece of advice my Pa gave me was to 'stay alive.'" He shrugged. "My old man was a hard ass bastard, but he was my father and he did what he could to provide for us. I don't think I've ever seen him look so petrified as he did when he said goodbye to me."

His fingers tightened around her hand as he cleared his throat after draining the bottle. "Our Escort was a right old bitch," he recalled. "She wasn't anything like you."

"Like me?" Effie asked.

"Stop pretending," he grumbled. "You know the kids are starving so you make sure they get extra servings of dessert and shoes on their feet for the first time in their lives. You care, Trinket. You care more than you should."

It felt like his gaze was piercing into her soul. "How can I not?" she asked. "I come to town, like the Angel of Death and swoop in for more prey each year. The least I can do is make sure the poor things are comfortable before they get torn apart."

"I've spent the last twenty-five years cursing those damn Games," Haymitch groaned. "I've let forty eight children march to their death because I was so fucking consumed by my own pain that I couldn't help them." He paused and placed the bottle on the floor. "I really tried, the first few years. Told them anything and everything I could think of. But no matter what I did, my Tributes ended up dead. So what was the difference? I could throw my heart and soul into helping them and fail, or I could just embrace the probability of their imminent death," his mirthless chuckle crackled harshly in the silent room. "I thought managing to get two of them out alive was my act of penance for my negligence. Maybe it's this instead."

"Haymitch, it might not even be you that goes into the Games," Effie pointed out hesitantly.

"If I'm not in the Arena, I'm going to get to watch the kids get destroyed instead. They're the closest thing I have to family and I'll get to watch them die," he confessed, his voice barely discernable, he spoke so softly.

"You're wrong," Effie whispered. She twisted her body so that she was facing him on the couch. "You have me." She cleared her throat. "I know you don't like me very much because of what the Capitol forces me to do, but if you wanted, I could be your family too."

Effie had expected him to scorn her. As soon as the words had left her mouth, she'd steeled herself for Haymitch to attack her with alcohol-fuelled barbs. She'd been so ready for his vitriol, that she'd been completely shocked when he kissed her instead. His lips slammed against hers in a desperate search for some kind of connection to another human.

The taste of liquor was heavy on his breath, but under the overwhelming taste of District Twelve's unique brew, Effie could taste his loneliness. She finally realised how harshly he'd been punishing himself with his self-imposed isolation and with the realisation that it was her that he'd chosen to break free from the prison of his own building with, she silenced the part of her brain that dealt with consequences and schedules and propriety and abandoned herself to the heat of the moment.

His kisses were relentless, his stubble burning the soft skin of her throat as his lips marked her skin. Her fingers fumbled for the buttons of his shirt, seeking the warmth of his skin against hers as she straddled his waist. She traced the scars that adorned his abdomen, her hips rolling against his.

He pulled away from her skin long enough to pull off the dress she was wearing, tossing it across the room. "You really do look much better without all that crap smeared all over you, Sweetheart," he sighed, his roughened hands tracing her slim waist. "I can actually see your face," he added, lips pressing against the curve of her jaw as he struggled with the clasp of her bra.

Effie batted his hands away, unclasping the garment and tossing it away. "If you promise to be very nice to me, I might let you see me like this more often," she teased as she pushed the open shirt off his shoulders, the lightness in her tone belying the solemnity of the reason for her visit.

"I can be very nice," Haymitch agreed, flipping them so that Effie lay sprawled on the couch, her legs hooked around his hips.

"Really?" she asked, smiling at him with kiss-swollen lips, her golden hair spread out over the pillow of the couch like a halo. "Prove it."

He leaned down to kiss her again. The urgency left his movements, no longer fuelled by the desperation to be close to another person. Now he touched her as if she were special, a priceless vase that would shatter at the slightest caress.

She reached for his belt buckle, nimble fingers making quick work of undoing the leather. His hand on her wrist stilled her movements. "Are you sure, Princess?" He asked her, searching her face for any sign of hesitation as his thumb brushed against the waistband of her lace panties

She gave him a shy smile as she lifted her hips. "I've never been more certain," she promised, reaching up to cup his cheek with her palm.

Her skin was tingling like a livewire when she felt his thumbs hook around her panties. His roughened fingertips tracing down her legs sent thrills shooting through her body, and a tiny sigh escaped her lips. She didn't know what she'd been expecting when she'd gotten on the train to District Twelve, but lying naked on Haymitch's liquor stained couch was somewhere near "the Games being cancelled" and "new found sobriety on Haymitch's behalf" on her list of theoretical outcomes.

There it was again. That gentle, delicate way he touched her. The caress that was so in opposition to everything that she knew of Haymitch Abernathy. "I'm not made of glass," she whispered.

He kissed her hungrily, nipping at her lower lip as he positioned himself at her entrance.

She grazed her teeth against his earlobe. "Manners, Haymitch," she growled, her voice low and wanton. "It's rude to tease."

A chuckle rumbled through his chest, "Predictable as always, Trinket," he responded, his voice raspy.

Her sure to be witty response was cut off with a gasp of pleasure when he finally, _finally_ entered her.

She brushed her lips against a scar that lined his collarbone, a moan of delight escaping her when he began to move. She'd had a tiny moment of panic, terrified that the whole experience would be horrifically awkward and unsatisfying and then they'd have to work together afterwards, but they found their rhythm as naturally as they slung innuendo-laden insults at each other.

She thrust her pelvis up to meet his, her fingers digging into his shoulder blades. "Harder," she sighed, a tiny note of challenge in her voice, daring him to keep up with her. She half expected him to snort and do the stark opposite and she was overtaken with pleasure when he responded in kind, his pace immediately increasing, his lips brushing against her décolletage as he whispered against her skin. She could barely hear the words escaping his lips, but she was certain she'd caught the word "beautiful" more than once.

His hand trailed down her thigh, pulling away slightly to hitch her ankle over his shoulder, pistoning his hips against hers. The change of angle was all Effie needed. She tossed her head back in silent ecstasy, her orgasm hitting her like a freight train, the tightening of her walls sending Haymitch over the edge.

He collapsed against her sweaty skin, energy spent. Her shaky fingers ran through his hair. She didn't want to break the silence of the moment, so she simply continued the gentle rhythm of her fingers weaving in and out of his surprisingly soft hair as his breathing returned to normal. "Is this usually the part of the evening where you'd pass out on the couch in a stupor?" she asked him; cautious to not sound like she was making an accusation.

"I think I might be in a stupor of a different kind, Princess," he replied, his eyes hazy when he managed to lift his head off her chest to look her in the eye. He snagged the blanket that Hazelle had left folded over the arm of the couch.

"Good, because I don't plan on moving," Effie replied, smiling at the way Haymitch wrapped them both in the comforter.

Haymitch collapsed back into his previous position, sleep drunk and vulnerable. "I sometimes wake up screaming," he warned her, eyes slipping shut at the ministrations of her nails against his scalp, his breathing becoming deep and regular.

"I'm tougher than I look," Effie assured him.

* * *

It was a rare night that he slept without nightmares. Drinking until he passed out helped, but at least twice a week he woke up to horrific nightmares that left him shaking for hours after sleep abandoned him. It was an unusual moment indeed where wakefulness crept up on him and let him slowly adjust to being conscious.

It was more rare still that he woke up wrapped around a woman like ivy.

"Good morning," Effie murmured.

Haymitch sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Morning," he replied. It had been a hell of a long time since he'd been in a position like this. He'd certainly never dealt with the morning after with a person he had any sort of working relationship with and he wasn't sure of the appropriate protocol that she would probably be a stickler for.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked. That seemed safe. It seemed like a question she wouldn't twist his ear for.

Effie shrugged. "Some," she replied. "Then I heard screaming from next door."

Haymitch nodded his understanding. For such a stoic little thing when she was awake, Katniss had a scream that could wake the dead when she was in the grip of her own nightmares. Truth be told, the noise that came from her bedroom window each night didn't help Haymitch any. "Pretty standard feature around here, Princess," he mentioned. "At least one of us wakes up having lost our shit."

Effie fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, chewing on her lip in a very not Effie-like way. She took a deep breath. "I'm not doing it," she whispered.

"Not doing what?"

She looked up at him, jaw set in determination. "The Reaping. I'm not sending any of you to your deaths, again."

Haymitch stood up abruptly, reaching for the pants he'd left strewn across the living room floor. Unable to locate Effie's dress, he tossed his shirt at her. "Get dressed," he ordered.

Effie frowned. "Is there a problem?" she asked.

"It's stuffy in here," he muttered. "And you've never seen a District Twelve sunrise. Hurry."

Effie wasn't sure why he was so insistent that they head outside, but she slipped on his shirt regardless and followed him as he rushed out the door.

The sun was just beginning to creep over the tree line, the world beginning to cast off shades of grey in order to be bathed in the pale light of day. It was certainly a sight to behold. "It's beautiful," Effie sighed. "But I don't know why you were in such a hurry to get outside."

He stepped behind her, his torso pressed against her back, one arm coming to wrap around her shoulders. "Capitol bugs," he muttered. To anybody, it looked like a lover's embrace as they watched the sun creep into the sky. "Shit is going to go down, Effie," he whispered into her ear.

"I don't care. They can find another Escort. I can't do it, Haymitch. I won't."

He cursed under his breath. "You don't get it, Trinket. I'm not just talking about you. You remember the upheaval we saw on the Victory Tour? The new Peacekeeper in Twelve?"

She nodded, a shiver wracking through her that had nothing to do with the crisp dawn air.

"All symptoms of a larger beast, Sweetheart. People are mad at the Capitol. They're sick of sending their kids off to die and starving, while a select few live in the lap of luxury. Things are going to change, whether Snow likes it or not."

Her breath hitched in her chest. The words that Haymitch whispered into her ear were treason, no question about it. And here he was, trusting a Capitol citizen with those words. She could practically taste his conviction. He was right. Panem was a festering wound, covered by a glittering bandage. The infection needed to be purged. "What can I do?" she whispered.

He gave her a soft smile, not unlike the one that crept across his lips when he saw Katniss or Peeta succeed in the arena. "I need you to head home and pretend like _nothing_ is wrong," he told her, his tone urgent. "You're the darling Escort of District Twelve and you're confident that one of your Victors can shock Panem and win a second year running."

Effie drew a shuddering breath. "Are we still selling the Star Crossed Lovers of District Twelve?" She asked. She smirked at his raised eyebrow. "Honestly, Haymitch, do you think I'm an idiot?" She paused. "Don't answer that," she cautioned him, gently poking his ribs. "Katniss never had any romantic feelings towards Peeta. At least, none that she was aware of. I assume she's still completely ignorant to the fact that she's madly in love with him?"

Haymitch sighed. "She came to see me, about an hour before you showed up, begging me to keep him alive."

"That girl redefines naivety," Effie sighed, turning so that she could face Haymitch.

"I swore that I'd volunteer if he was Reaped," Haymitch confessed.

Effie felt like she'd been kicked in the chest. It was hard enough watching two strange children in the Games this year, and she was sure that watching any of her Victors go through the Arena again would damn near destroy her, but the thought that Haymitch would _volunteer_ to go to hell a second time? Unthinkable.

"He made me promise to keep her safe," Haymitch confessed. "I can do that, inside the arena or as a Mentor. And her safety matters the most. She's the Mockingjay."

Effie nodded. She'd never forget the Victory Tour's stop at District Eleven, the whistle of the old man from the crowd, the salute and the crack of a gunshot over the sound of rioting. Katniss had become a symbol to those people, and Effie of all people knew the power of a symbol. "I did my best to keep them safe in whatever way I could," Effie confessed. "I know those speeches were repulsive, but I thought they might at least stop the pair of them from arousing any more suspicion. Especially after what happened to poor Seneca." The look Effie shot him suggested that Seneca's mysterious disappearance was not unusual, and that she was well aware she'd probably never see him again.

"You did good, Trinket," he assured her, resting his forehead against hers. Effie's hands snuck up to rest on the nape of his neck, her eyes slipping closed. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "But we've got to get you back to the Capitol," he insisted.

"I wish I could stay," Effie offered meekly.

He almost confessed that he wished she could too. He'd managed a solid few hours rest, completely free of nightmares and the only anomaly he could attribute to the situation was the evening spent with her. By rights, the prospect of going back into the Arena should have thrown him into a spiral of flashbacks and alcoholic suppression, but he felt shockingly peaceful. There was a steady fire of hatred burning deep within his psyche, but he was at peace with the rage and felt no fear. He couldn't find a way to express that though, so he kissed her again, hoping that she could find a way to understand.

She shot him a tiny smile when he pulled away. "Honestly Haymitch, where are your manners?" She attempted to tease, bolstering her tone with a false bravado she didn't really feel. "You should at least offer me a cup of coffee before I leave."

* * *

She'd crept away to the bathroom and made an attempt to tame her hair and washed her face, walking to the kitchen fully dressed, her face schooled into the cool disinterest of a Capitol woman.

Haymitch nodded to the cup sitting on the table, pouring a hefty serving of whiskey into his own cup. Effie took a sip, mildly surprised that Haymitch had memorised the way she took her coffee.

"Can't believe you came here without so much as packing a bag," he said gruffly.

"I thought you'd be impressed," Effie retorted. "I loosened my corset and threw caution in the wind. Next thing you know I'll be sporting a devil may care attitude and a hip flask," she gave him a wink.

"That's not how this works," he replied. "If you did that, I'd have to be responsible, and we both know how much trouble we'd be in if I was in charge."

"The train would run off the tracks," Effie agreed.

He smirked. "Drink up, Sweetheart," he urged. "First train is due to leave soon and the fewer people see you, the safer."

She nodded, draining her cup. She really hadn't thought about the logistics of this trip at all. She hadn't even brought a change of clothes with her, for goodness sake. She placed the cup in the sink, where she assumed it would most probably stay until she arrived again for the Reaping. "I'm ready."

* * *

She hadn't expected him to accompany her to the train station. His stare was intent, scanning the horizon for any kind of threat that might emerge. He'd silently taken her hand, weaving his fingers with hers, his grip tight and reassuring as they made the short walk from the Victors Village to the train station.

She turned to face him once they stood on the platform, the early morning sun making her squint. "Any last advice?" she asked him.

He smirked. "Stay alive." With a rough kiss pressed against her mouth, he gave her a push towards the train door, before turning and walking away.

He shattered her expectations yet again when she saw him from the train window, watching her depart with his flask in hand.

She settled back on the seat. She'd known Haymitch for years, but the man was certainly an enigma.

* * *

**So... I made Effie a rebel, or at least, aware that the rebellion was going to take place. Personally, I don't think she's a ditz at all. I think the persona she presents to the Capitol is exactly that, and she's far more intelligent than she appears. With that in mind, I can't stand the idea of her being tortured by the Capitol during Mockingjay if she knows nothing. That's a very short justification of why I made that little choice ;)**

**Let's play! I'm very new to the world of tumblr (but I am enjoying the pretty pictures), so check me out at brookemopolitan and feel free to throw me a prompt, if you're so inclined, or send me a follow request on twitter (brookemopolitan is the handle)**

**I would love to hear your thoughts.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm back for my final update of 2013. How excitement. Many thanks to Em, as usual (who actually beta-ed live, in a moment of proof that not everybody you meet online wants to crazy murder you)**

**Unfortunately... I still don't own THG**

TRIGGER WARNING: PTSD flashbacks and reactions to dreams.

* * *

Her wig was perfectly in place. Her makeup was exquisite, and Cinna had certainly outdone himself with the butterfly motif on her dress. She took a deep breath, willing her roiling emotions to subside. She turned to Peacekeeper Thread. "I'm going to need to see the Victors before the Reaping," she announced.

"That's not possible," Thread replied, the casual way he dismissed her ruffling Effie's feathers and making her all the more determined. "They're in the custody of Peacekeepers now and will remain so until the new Tributes are determined."

Effie bit back her retort about the Victors not being criminals and therefore not needing to be in anybody's custody but their own. "Did you see Haymitch Abernathy last year?" she asked crisply. "He made a mockery of the entire ceremony, carrying on the way he did. Given that he will likely end up representing this District again this year, I'm going to need to personally ensure that he's not going to disgrace us in front of the entire nation." She raised an eyebrow, daring him to challenge her. "I have my orders from Plutarch Heavensbee personally, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist."

Effie prayed to any deity that might be listening that her bluff wouldn't be called. She couldn't recall the last time she spoke to Plutarch beyond attending the annual Escorts briefing at the Gamemaking Headquarters, let alone him giving her personal orders regarding when she could speak to Tributes. Thread glared at her. "You get five minutes," he growled.

Effie only nodded in response. She began to pace the length of the room, quietly repeating the mandated script she'd memorised for the event. It was just another Reaping, she swore to herself. She could do this without bursting into tears. She could.

The doors swung open and she saw them. They all looked utterly miserable as they were shepherded into the room.

Effie shot them something as close to a smile as she could manage, moving to stand in front of them. "I just wanted to see you, before the madness unfolds," she told them.

"Hi Effie," Katniss murmured, her voice raspy. The smudgy black rings beneath all their eyes spoke volumes. Effie really just wanted to hug the three of them and force them to run away, never to be found again and never to be thrown into the Arena.

"I'm glad you're all ready to bring glory to District Twelve again," Effie announced stiffly. Katniss scoffed and Peeta took her hand, squeezing it gently and nodding discreetly to Thread.

Effie took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, trying to project a confidence she truly didn't feel. "Eyes bright," she reminded them, tutting sympathetically as she brushed the pink scar on Katniss's cheek, earned when she stood up to Thread. "Chins up," she flattened a wayward lock of hair on Peeta's head, her words a hollow rendition of the Victors' Party all those months ago. "Smiles on," she breathed, reaching to adjust the collar of Haymitch's coat. She desperately wanted to reassure him. She wanted to have all those ridiculous conversations about what they were after her last visit to Twelve, and fight with him and laugh with him and kiss him. She mentally suppressed all those thoughts. They wouldn't help her today, when she was trying so desperately not to lose her cool. She offered him a tiny smile. She could tell he'd been drinking, but he was sober enough that he wasn't going to throw up on stage. Effie would almost welcome that kind of distraction.

"That's time," Thread announced, standing at the door.

"Yes, thank you," Effie snapped, turning to glare at Thread. She resisted the urge to remind him that she was the one who had written the running order for the day, and she had years of experience with broadcasting live around Panem, but she feared that he would retaliate by taking out his rage on some poor District Twelve citizen. She turned back to her three terrified Victors. "Let's just do this as quickly and painlessly as possible," she suggested.

"I need a drink," Haymitch muttered as one of Thread's band of thugs came to remove them from the building to walk through the crowd. His knuckles brushed against Effie's as he walked past her, his grey eyes burning into hers as he strode out the door, jaw set.

* * *

Effie sat in her bedroom compartment on the train, checking for any correspondence from the Capitol regarding protocol changes to the handover of Tributes to the Capitol for training. Appearance was everything now. She couldn't afford to have Katniss and Peeta look anything less than subservient to the rules of the Games. They had to follow every law to the letter. She looked up from her tablet when there was a knock at the door. "Peeta," she greeted him. "What can I do for you?"

Peeta walked into the compartment and after closing the door, he stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"Is something the matter?" Effie prompted him. She'd never seen Peeta behave like this. In her experience, he was always confident and well spoken.

"I like the idea of the tokens," he started. "You're really kind, Effie."

"I think it's about the only truly kind thing I can do for you, given the circumstances," Effie responded. She leaned over and turned up the soft music she had playing in the room. She assumed that Snow had bugged her room and she didn't want to play right into his hands.

"I wanted to maybe make a suggestion for my token, if you don't mind? But if you've already decided, I can just go," he suggested, his manners impeccable as he looked over at the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet as if he was about to turn tail and run.

"Not at all," Effie responded. "Peeta, please sit down," she offered, gesturing to a stuffed bench seat that sat next to her window. She pressed a button on the desk and requested that an Avox bring two cups of hot chocolate to her room. The poor boy looked beside himself, so Effie dismissed the thought of too many calories and took a sip from the small cup of happiness. "This is your token, Peeta. Tell me exactly what you want, and I'll make it happen."

Peeta hesitated and then pulled several photographs from his pocket. "Do you think you could have these put into something? I don't mind what," He asked, handing them to her.

"That shouldn't be a problem at all," Effie responded. Her heart broke just a little bit more when she saw the photo of Gale Hawthorne, who was most decidedly _not_ Katniss's cousin. "Oh, Peeta," she sighed.

Peeta put his cup down, head resting in his hands. "I think it's time we stop pretending. She never loved me, Effie. She just wanted to live."

Effie closed her eyes, willing the tears away as she cursed the Capitol and every twisted sycophant who contributed to the conception of the Games. She put down her own cup and sat on the bench seat next to him, pulling him into her arms. "I'm so sorry that you're being used like this Peeta," she whispered in his ear.

Peeta clung tightly to her, his face buried into her neck like a small child would with their mother. Effie rubbed his shoulder gently, realisation washing over her. She'd only had the pleasure of Mrs Mellark's company a few times and she could say unequivocally that the woman was the least maternal human she'd ever met. Effie could only hope that she could provide the motherly comfort that Peeta so sorely needed. "You don't have to answer me," she whispered, "But why did you volunteer? You didn't have to go back in."

"I don't mind dying," Peeta replied, his voice soft. His grip on Effie's waist loosened, but he didn't pull away. "I won't be leaving anybody behind that would be destroyed by my loss," she could hear the smirk in his tone. "I saw Haymitch take you back to the train station, the morning after the Quell announcement."

"Of course you did," she huffed, her cheeks reddening.

"If I die, Katniss is free to have a life of her own choosing, not dictated by what President Snow and the circus that is the Games demands. And if Haymitch were to go into the Games and die, it would hurt you, and you haven't done anything wrong."

Effie gave a sad sigh. "I don't know if that's true," she replied, the tearful faces of all the children she'd Reaped dancing through her mind like a macabre ballet. She pulled away and cupped Peeta's cheek with her palm. "You are a good man, Peeta Mellark," she told him seriously. "And if Katniss can't love you for that, then she's a damn fool."

Peeta's eyebrows rose at Effie's language. She only tilted her head, daring him to say something. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Now bed, young man," she ordered. "We're arriving in the Capitol tomorrow and if you fall asleep during basic training, there will be consequences."

Peeta actually managed to laugh at that. "Thank you, Effie," he said, holding eye contact with her as his pale eyes bored into her soul. "For everything."

"Tell me if there's anything else I can do for you."

"I will," he shot her the first genuine smile she'd seen all day. "Good night, Effie."

Satisfied that she'd completed all her work related tasks for the evening, Effie sat down at her vanity and began the process of stripping off the Capitol. She exchanged the extravagant dress for a soft cotton sleepwear and a neatly tied dressing gown, tidily slipping her jewellery into their designated boxes. After peeling off the eyelash extensions she'd spent hours gluing on, she wiped away the happy painted face of a District Escort.

It wasn't until she began sliding the wig pins from her hair that she heard her compartment door open and close again. "Hello Haymitch," she greeted him, her voice soft. They were finally alone. There was so much she wanted to say, so many conversations she'd practiced having in her tiny flat in the Capitol that she now had no idea how to broach, so she simply continued her nightly routine, placing the wig pins in the top drawer of her vanity and lifting the wig from her head.

"A token, huh?" Haymitch asked. He'd made himself quite comfortable on her window seat, leaning against the edge with a leg propped up so he faced her, swirling the ice in his half empty glass of whiskey.

Effie stood to place her golden wig on its stand. "I know you think I'm just a silly little girl with an eye for shiny things," she told him. She sat back down and pulled off her wig cap, sighing with relief when her blonde hair swung free. "But when I completed my schooling to be an Escort, one of the things firmly impressed upon us was to not be associated with our Tributes beyond merely being their shepherds from the District to the Arena." She picked up a brush and began to work out the snags in her hair.

Haymitch made a noise of understanding.

"It may seem ridiculous to you, but this is my statement. My way of making it clear that I stand with my Victors," she put her brush down and strode across the room. "All of my Victors."

She wanted to touch him. He was right there in front of her and she could feel the tension buzzing under her skin. "You look good," she murmured, "Given the circumstances," she added on hastily.

Haymitch reached out and grabbed her wrist, tugging so that she was sitting on the window seat with him. "Blame Peeta," he grumbled. "After the announcement, he decided that we needed to throw the rulebook out the window and train for this thing." He took a sip of his drink. "I'm pretty sure he was trying to kill me."

Effie ran her hand down his shoulder, her hand stopping to squeeze his bicep. "I can't say that I'm complaining," she raised an eyebrow, daring him to say something in response. He only smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I don't want to talk about the Games," Effie told him. "I'm going to have to deal with so much press coverage and scheduling and it's all going to be so much more intense because of the Quarter Quell and I just want to spend a few hours denying that the whole fiasco is happening."

"Fine with me," Haymitch responded. He leaned his head back against the wall of her bedroom. "I just want to sleep for a year," he sighed.

"I'm not keeping you awake, am I?" Effie asked. She knew that he probably hadn't slept properly since the Quell announcement and she just wanted him to be able to rest and be granted peaceful sleep. "You should get some rest," she decided, standing up to walk him to the door.

He didn't move. Effie raised an eyebrow. "Is something the matter?" she asked him.

He shrugged. "Which side of the bed do you prefer, Princess?" he asked.

Effie's jaw dropped, "That is an awfully forward question, don't you think, Mr Abernathy?"

He stashed his glass on a side table, standing and stepping in front of Effie. "I can't help myself, Princess," his fingers began toying with the sash that kept her robe tied together. "I'm from District Twelve. Did you expect me to be anything other than uncouth?" He pulled the sash of her dressing gown, pushing it open to rest his hands on her hips.

Effie was desperate to maintain her outraged affront, but truth be told, she had no complaints about his presence in her room, or her bed. Any doubts she'd had about their night together were temporarily quashed when she felt his lips on her cheek. "I don't want to be alone," he breathed into her ear.

There was no way he'd ever let himself be more vulnerable than that. She cupped his face in her hands. "I suppose you can stay," she decided. She pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. "Providing you actually sleep," her thumbs brushed his cheekbones. He looked exhausted to the bone. "And you conduct yourself like a gentleman."

"Not making any promises, sweetheart."

* * *

It was the thrashing that first disturbed Effie's slumber. She looked over at Haymitch, who was still sleeping, but it was far from sound.

She hesitated. She didn't know whether or not to wake him… she remembered her grandfather telling her something about giving the person having a nightmare a heart attack if you woke them.

"No… please…"

God, that did it. Effie couldn't listen to him sound so defeated and scared. She grabbed his shoulders. "Haymitch," she said clearly. "Haymitch, you're dreaming."

Her words did nothing to ease his whimpers. She shook him firmly. "Wake up," she commanded.

It happened so quickly that she barely had the chance to blink. Haymitch gave a bloodthirsty scream and then she was on her back, pinned down by his body, one hand wrapped around her throat. His eyes were dark and cold. She'd never seen him look so murderous. She clawed at his hand, trying desperately to get him to loosen his grasp. "Haymitch, stop," she choked out. She managed to reach for a book on her nightstand, clipping him across the head with it in the hopes of waking him up from whatever trance he was in.

As quickly as it had happened, Haymitch sprung away from her and bolted out the door.

Effie coughed and wheezed, rubbing her throat as she sucked down air. What had even happened? She was shaky with adrenaline as she stood. She needed to go find Haymitch. Effie assumed that the bar car would be the first place to look. If she didn't find something to do, she was going to crumble into a thousand tiny pieces and sob until her eyes bled.

She stepped outside the door. Haymitch was sitting on the floor outside her compartment, head bowed, a bottle dangling from his fingertips.

"Haymitch," Effie sighed.

He looked up at her. "I am so sorry," he whispered. "I don't know what happened. Effie, you have to believe me, please."

"I do," she promised. "I do believe you. Now come on," she reached a hand out to him. "Come back inside, please."

He shook his head, taking a sip from the bottle with shaking hands.

"Fine," Effie replied. She sank down gracefully to sit opposite him.

"Go to bed, Effie," he sighed. She'd never heard him sound so defeated.

"Absolutely not," she responded tartly. "I'm not leaving you alone, and you're refusing to come inside, so I suppose we're at an impasse."

"Fine," Haymitch replied. He turned away from her, taking another long mouthful from the bottle.

Effie fiddled with the hem of her nightgown. She shuddered when she heard whimpering echo down the hallway. It sounded like Peeta was dealing with nightmares of his own. Effie tipped her head back to rest against the wall. This was going to be a long night.

"I'm not some Capitol piece of china that will shatter at the slightest touch," Effie whispered. "You're not going to scare me away when you show me the ugliest part of yourself."

"I could have killed you…"

"Just like my people could have killed you? My people who _tried_ to kill you?" Effie asked. "Haymitch, this isn't your decision to make. I don't want to walk away." She stood up and moved in front of him, offering him her hand. "Come inside," she requested, offering him her hand.

The look he gave her shattered her soul all over again. He reached out and took her hand. His fingers tightly twined with hers, they stepped back into his room. The second the door shut, Effie wrapped him into a tight embrace. "You're okay, Haymitch," she whispered. "I'm not scared of you."

"What if I do it again?" He asked, his voice thick with unshed tears. "What if there's no book to hit me with next time?"

"I'll make sure I have a paperweight beside the bed at all times," Effie replied. "Or I'll wake you up by tickling your feet."

He pulled back to look at her. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I hurt you." His fingers gently traced the marks on her neck.

"I'm tougher than I look," Effie assured him. "I know my limits, Haymitch. I would be a deplorable human if I left you because you lost a leg or your kidneys stopped working. The Games wounded you, Haymitch. I won't abandon you for something entirely out of your control."

Haymitch pulled away from her, moving towards the bathroom. Striding back into the room, he placed a cold compress from her medicine cabinet against her throat. "At this time of year, the only way I ever get any sleep is if I drink 'til I pass out." He cleared his throat. "Victors have a mandated session with a psychiatrist, just to make sure we don't snap and kill people outside the Arena," he mentioned, trying to keep his tone casual. "He mentioned that I might have reactions like this when I'm stressed."

"Did he suggest any ways to cope with it?" Effie asked, reaching up to hold the ice pack to the worst of the bruising.

"Pills, like Katniss is supposed to take," he shrugged. "A whole lot of good they did me. He also said that I shouldn't go straight back to sleep, because I could fall right back into the same dream." He scratched the back of his head. He wanted to admit that he knew drinking wasn't a healthy coping mechanism, but for the last twenty-five years, it had been the only constant in his life. He'd been drinking less lately. The gruelling training routine Peeta had been putting him through had been hard enough without adding a pounding hangover on top. He drank enough to take the edge off, but that meant that he only managed a few hours rest at best. He supposed the five hours sleep he'd managed over the past week, the amount of stress he was under because of the Quell and everything happening with District Thirteen, plus the decreased alcohol in his body had pushed him over the edge. He hated that Effie had to bear the brunt of it all.

Effie sat down on the bed, propping up her pillow against the headboard and sitting back. She patted the empty space next to her. "Lay down, Haymitch," she suggested. "You don't have to sleep. Just come lay with me and we'll talk about something completely insignificant."

Haymitch hesitated. He really shouldn't. The safest bet was to go back to his room and drown his sorrows in expensive whiskey. But the idea of just lying with Effie, with her soft skin and candied citrus smell… that was far too tempting to pass up. He placed the bottle on the bedside table, crawling onto the bed and laying his head on her lap. "Now what?" he asked.

Her fingers started that tantalising weaving in and out of his hair. "Now we choose something to talk about," she decided.

He stayed silent for several moments. He'd had no time for something as trivial as small talk when he was just a kid from the Seam, and his skills had hardly improved over the years. "You have freckles," he stated.

"You seem far more amused by this than my mother was when she saw them," Effie murmured drily. "She had a fit when she realised I'd been in the sun long enough to get them." Effie rolled her eyes. "There had been a school trip to the seaside and there was a Victor who had chosen surfing as his talent after the Games. My best friend was madly in love with him,"

"Had she ever actually spoken to him?" Haymitch interjected.

"Manners, Haymitch, don't interrupt." Effie sassed him. "Of course she hadn't. But when you're sixteen years old that hardly matters," she added. "Naturally we had to sit on the beach from dawn til dusk, watching him surf, praying that he'd notice her and realise that they were meant to be. When I look back on it, I'm completely certain that he was interested in men and that's why he didn't pay a speck of attention to either of us. And that is the story of my freckles."

"You sure it wasn't you who had the thing for him? Imagine, little Effie Trinket crushing on a District boy," He teased, his eyes slipping shut, almost purring at the sensation of her nails gently scraping against his scalp.

"It was Euphemia in those days," Effie responded. "I thought using my full name made me sound more grown up."

"Seriously?" Haymitch interjected.

"I only changed it because I didn't want the pronunciation bastardised on TV," she admitted. "And more importantly, no, it was not me. There's only ever been one Victor to capture my attention."

"It was Julius Lucas, wasn't it?" Haymitch asked.

Effie wrinkled her nose. Julius was the oldest living Victor. He was from District Six and had been at least in his fifties the year of Haymitch's Games. "Yes, yes it was Julius," Effie replied seriously. "I think it was the way that he spits his tobacco that first drew me in." Her free hand came up to tenderly cup Haymitch's cheek. "I never, ever once found you even the slightest bit attractive. You can rest assured of that."

"Good," Haymitch replied. "Because I always thought you were a pain in the ass."

Effie let a smile creep over her face. The banter was still there. That at least felt normal, but she didn't bother hide the affection in her tone. From the smile that twisted onto his lips, he felt the same way. "Just try and rest, Haymitch," she urged him.

His breathing had become deep and even and she didn't know how much longer he'd be able to resist falling asleep.

"What if I hurt you again?" He mumbled.

"Don't borrow trouble, Haymitch," she whispered. "Just rest for a few hours. I'll protect you."

A few moments later, he was out like a light. Effie touched the bruised skin of her throat. She was no fool. She knew it had been a damn close call earlier that evening. But he _needed _her. She couldn't walk away; he would only self-destruct. She'd systematically destroyed so many lives just by doing her job. Perhaps this was a way in which she could rebuild one.

* * *

**So... if you choose to follow me on tumblr right now, you might be lucky enough to get selfies of me and Em (my awesome beta) getting white girl wasted, so, there's that (brookemopolitan dot tumblr etc)**

**Would love to hear your thoughts!**


	3. Chapter 3

**And with this... we have come to the end of my journey through Catching Fire. I know, I know... I'm sad too. Hopefully, though, something will spark me and I'll be back. I do love prompts though :) PM them to me or pop them into my tumblr ask :D**

**Many thanks to Em, my amazing beta and bestest buddy, for putting up with me. Love you big!**

**I own nothing, and this makes me tremendously sad**

* * *

Haymitch awoke from his nightmare the way he usually did; his breathing raspy and uneven, heart racing as he shook off his torment and reminded himself that he was safe, eyes searching every corner of the room for a potential threat. He ran a shaking hand over his face, scraping the strands of hair off his clammy face.

"Good morning," Effie sighed. She was pale, pronounced bags beneath her eyes. It was more than clear that she'd barely slept.

His eyes were instantly drawn to the vivid purple marks on her throat. "Shit," he swore. "Effie, I'm so…"

"I know you are," Effie cut him off. She linked her hand with his. "We're both okay, and we're both here," she soothed him. "And we have much more immediate concerns on our hands," she added pointedly. She reached for a piece of paper on her bedside table, which had been neatly folded multiple times. She handed it to Haymitch. _"We're about to walk into the mouth of the lion,"_ her handwriting was neat and precise. _"What do you need me to do for you so that you can remain unseen by wandering eyes?"_

Her heart was slowly creeping up into her throat as he grabbed a pen to reply. She'd crossed the line now. No longer was she merely quietly disapproving of the actions of the Capitol; she was actively committing treason against the government of Panem. As an employee of the government, the punishment for her actions would most certainly be slow and painful and if for some reason, Haymitch didn't want her involvement, she'd drawn the line in the sand, one way or the other.

He pushed the note into her palm. _"Keep your focus on the kids. Get them ready like you've done every year and make sure you keep up appearances. If I happen to disappear for a few hours at a time, cover for me. Just make sure everything appears normal to an outsider."_

Effie studied the note and nodded. She picked up a lighter and walked to the bathroom. She set fire to the page, watching as the flame destroyed their words and disintegrated into ash in the sink. She squared her shoulders and walked back into the room and opened her closet, flipping through her wardrobe for an appropriately high-necked garment to wear. They would arrive at the Capitol within hours and she needed to look the part of the professional, poised Escort.

She felt Haymitch come and stand behind her, his hands on her shoulders. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" he whispered.

She turned around to face him. "I'm all in one piece," she promised. "I'll get to the Capitol and I'm sure I'll be able to get some sort of lotion to fade the bruises. I'm fine. So for now I'm going to hide it and focus on the children. I don't need their pity, and Peeta will most certainly try and offer it. They need a Mentor and an Escort who are completely dedicated to keeping them alive. When all the immediate threats have been dealt with, we can discuss a more long-term solution to the problems of last night. But for now, we need to remember that we are not the ones who have to step back into the Arena."

Haymitch nodded, blonde hair falling over his face. Effie cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing across his cheekbone. "I have a confession, but I don't think you're going to like it," she whispered.

"You might be surprised," he replied.

Effie studied his face and drew a breath. "When I drew your name from the Reaping Ball, I was relieved," she confessed. "And I hate myself for it. I was relieved because I _knew_ Peeta would volunteer in your place." She couldn't stand to look at those piercing grey eyes, peering into the depths of her soul, so she forced herself to look at the carpet. "It's going to be horrific watching Katniss and Peeta be forced back into that hellhole, but Haymitch, I wouldn't have survived if it were you sent in there by my hand."

He would scorn her. He would certainly have a derogatory remark for that confession. "I was relieved as well," Haymitch admitted. "I promised Katniss I would Volunteer and she would have hated me if I so much as hesitated. Now I can keep my promise to her and not have to go back." He tilted her chin up to face him. "So you're not alone on the self loathing front."

Effie managed to shoot him a weak smile. She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. "I'm glad you're still here with me, Haymitch," she told him. She turned back to her wardrobe, inspecting her dresses with a critical eye. "But for the sake of appearances, I need to get ready."

Haymitch sat back down on the bed, pressing the button for the intercom and requesting that coffee and his favourite pastries be brought to the room. She raised an eyebrow at the comfortable way he settled himself on her bed, inspecting the ornaments she'd arranged on her bedside table. She eventually plucked an outfit out of her wardrobe and strode to the bathroom. Once she was showered and dressed, she sat down to begin her daily beauty routine.

"Do you even like wearing all that crap?" Haymitch asked around a mouthful of pastry.

Effie shrugged, putting down the vivid purple lipstick she'd carefully painted onto her mouth. She reached for her hairbrush and began to neatly arrange her hair so that she could slip on her wig cap. "It is what it is," she replied. "There's an expectation upon me to look a certain way and I have to follow it or I face repercussions," she explained. "So when I wear all the bells and whistles, I'm the property of the Capitol. But when I take it all off, I belong to me." She reached for her golden wig, settling it neatly on her head.

"But now you belong to the team?" Haymitch asked.

Effie stood up and slid her feet into her chosen shoes. She shot him a smile. "I suppose I do," she replied. "And I think I like that best of all."

She stood up and walked over to where Haymitch was sitting, picking up the cup of black coffee that had to be hers. She reached out and linked her fingers with his, smiling softly at him.

"Remember, Trinket, everything is exactly as it has been for years," Haymitch said urgently, his eyes flicking to their joined hands.

"So I suppose that means we go back to our own bedrooms and me pretending not to notice your eyes on my rear end?" Effie asked, raising an eyebrow as she took a sip of her coffee, the sharp bitterness on her tongue making her feel semi human after such a tumultuous night. She'd have to find a way to take some painkillers for her bruised neck without Haymitch seeing. No need to make him feel worse than he already did.

"I don't think we need to go that far, Princess," Haymitch replied lazily.

"Oh, I see," Effie responded, draining her cup and placing it back down on the table. There was no way she was turning him out of her bedroom that evening if he arrived. It would mean that he was safe, next to her, and not out a bar where any one of Snow's henchmen could make him disappear without a word.

Haymitch stood up in front of her. "I happen to like your rear end," he murmured, just a hint of a Capitol accent on his words as his hand slipped to her derriere, giving it a teasing squeeze.

She brushed her lips against his jaw, the prickle of his stubble teasing her soft lips, "You better keep up appearances then," she sighed in his ear.

"Gladly," he replied, before capturing her lips in a kiss.

She hadn't behaved like this since she was a teenager. Her back was pressed against a mahogany bookshelf, leg hitched around Haymitch's waist as he kissed her furiously. In some distant part of her brain, she prayed Peeta or Katniss wouldn't come looking for her when she failed to arrive at breakfast at exactly eight am, particularly when they were due to arrive at the Capitol's train station at nine. She would have to brief them again, but Haymitch was making it almost impossible to leave the room. She finally managed to break away with a giggle. "Haymitch, you have ruined my makeup," she whined, her thumb brushing across his lip, smeared with her electric magenta lipstick. "Go clean yourself up and get out to breakfast before the children start worrying about where we are!"

Effie cringed when she watched him use the edge of her bedsheet to clean his face; they were changed daily, but that was quite beside the point and really, it was just bad manners. She trained her eyes back onto the mirror, making quick work of repairing the china white base of her face, before meticulously painting on lipstick that she would _not_ be allowing Haymitch Abernathy to destroy, no matter how charming he was.

Had she been paying more attention, she would have seen him approaching in the mirror. "See you out there, Princess," he called out teasingly, and just to ruffle her feathers, he pressed a smacking kiss against her cheek.

"You still drive me mad," she called out at his retreating figure.

In the midst of all the turmoil that was their life, she was glad to see that some things never changed.

* * *

She didn't know why she'd dared to hope. Between the elaborate fabrication of Katniss's pregnancy, Johanna's cursing on live television and all of Beetee's carefully measured arguments, the Capitol was in uproar. For once in all of Panem's history, people dared to call for an end to the Games.

After the shocking show of solidarity during the Tributes interviews, all the District Escorts had been dragged into an emergency meeting. Effie was not impressed by the way that she'd been manhandled into a transport to attend the meeting, but she knew better than to complain.

She could feel the eyes of every other Escort in the room on her. For years they had pitied her, the poor Escort to the worst possible District with a pathetic excuse for a Mentor. Their pity had turned to scorn, though, when she'd managed to send two Victors home, shell shocked and patched up, but undeniably alive. When she'd arrived in her golden wig, her fellow Escorts had stopped trying to hide their unadulterated loathing. She'd thrown all their carefully constructed conventions out the window and she couldn't give a damn what any of them thought about it. She squared her shoulders and put her focus on Plutarch, content to ignore the steady hum of whispering as she walked into the room.

It was through sheer willpower alone that she managed to keep her posture stiff and perfect, not slumping over like her heart had been torn out of her chest the way that she wanted to when she heard the announcement that the seventy fifth Annual Hunger Games would be going ahead, exactly as planned. She wanted to scream and beat her fists against the walls at the utter unfairness of it all, shouting from the rooftops that the Quarter Quell twist on the usual rules of the Games was brutality at its barest and it needed to be stopped. It would do no good. Instead, she got to head back to the penthouse apartment and be the bearer of bad news all over again.

She'd made a beeline for her room the second she got to the Twelfth floor. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she searched in the drawers beside her bed for the chunky black boxes she'd picked up from her favourite jeweller earlier that day.

She gasped when she turned to see Haymitch standing at her doorway. Fighting the tears that had been threatening to fall since the moment she'd walked out of the Escorts briefing, she simply shook her head. Words were far too difficult for her now. Once she opened her mouth, the floodgates would open and she'd never stop crying.

Haymitch didn't say a word. He simply stepped over to Effie and pulled her into his embrace, supporting her petite weight with his solid frame. His hand traced her spine as a shudder wracked her body.

"I'll tell them," he whispered.

Effie could only nod. She was too drained to be ashamed of her weakness. Haymitch pressed a kiss to her forehead before he turned and walked out of the room.

* * *

She'd wept in the shower. Big, gulping gasps had come out of her chest as she hid away in the sanctuary of her bathroom. Haymitch had disappeared, mostly likely getting himself drunk beyond belief before the Games began and Effie had seen the door to the room Katniss and Peeta were sharing (with the announcement of their marriage, they'd given up the façade of separate rooms) be firmly shut.

There was nothing else she could do. All she could do was stare at the roof of her bedroom, hoping that Haymitch would return in one piece and that she'd finally get some rest. There would be sponsors to charm tomorrow and she could hardly do that if she was so exhausted that she couldn't keep her eyes open. It certainly didn't help that every time she closed her eyes, the very worst parts of the Games would flash before her eyes. That boy from District Six who decided to eat his victims… Enobaria certainly seemed the type. And that was before the muttations and other delightful parts of nature that the Arena could throw at Tributes.

Telling herself that she was worrying over nothing and to stop jumping to the worst possible conclusion was useless… this _was _the worst possible conclusion that she could imagine.

Her macabre train of thought was disrupted when Haymitch walked into her room and began stripping off his clothes. His movements were far too fluid for him to be intoxicated and she privately wondered where the hell he could have been. Perhaps this was one of the moments where she was supposed to pretend that everything was totally normal and he hadn't snuck away for illicit activities that were most certainly treacherous in the eyes of the State.

"Did Katniss ever choose an ally?" Effie asked. Strategising was all part of the Games and she supposed that it wouldn't hurt if the President's bugs that were most certainly in the room heard it.

Haymitch rolled his eyes in response. "Stubborn as a mule, that girl is," he muttered. Sliding into bed next to her, he moved so that he was spooning her tiny frame, mouth next to her ear. "She refused to choose sides, so I gave Finnick the bangle. She'll realise it's a push in the right direction."

So _that _was where he had been. Effie only nodded. "If she and Peeta don't make some friends fast in that Arena, they'll be dead before they reach the Cornucopia," she commented.

"They're smart kids, they'll figure it out," Haymitch replied.

Effie raised an eyebrow. Call her crazy, but she just might have heard a twinge of paternal pride when she heard Haymitch mention the children who were snuggled in bed just as they were, right down the hall. "You're going to keep them safe, aren't you?" she asked. He'd disappointed her so many times in the past, obliterating himself with alcohol instead of helping the children she'd damned to hell. She needed to hear from his own mouth that this year would be different. That he wouldn't revert back to old ways and leave her crippled when it came to getting Sponsors and keeping their Tributes alive.

"I'm going to do everything I can," he promised. He sat up, extracting the bottle of liquor he'd placed in the bedside table. It was obvious that he wouldn't sleep tonight. He would only be plagued by nightmares, so he'd avoid it all together by keeping vigil all night long. He took a swig from the bottle. "My turn to stay awake, Effie," he murmured, his free hand combing through her blonde hair, hanging loose across her pillow.

Effie nodded. She needed to recharge. It was no use them both being exhausted. "Make sure you get a few hours before the sun rises," she muttered sleepily. "I'll feel horribly guilty if you sit up all night."

"Stop yabbering and sleep, Trinket," he growled amiably.

* * *

Effie was relieved when a natural lull in conversation meant that she could politely duck away from the extremely wealthy, but extremely boring sponsor she had been speaking to. He hadn't once looked her in the eye, instead conversing at her breasts the entire time. Still, she indulged him as well as she could… if he could help Katniss and Peeta in the Arena, she'd quietly put up with borderline sexual harassment.

She knew she was supposed to be working the room, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the television. The plan to electrocute Enobaria and Brutus was ingenious and she knew it would shake the Games up, to only have one Career Tribute left in the Arena. The anxiety that she would have to return to District Twelve with two plain pine caskets was ever present in her mind. Even if one of her Tributes survived, they would be destroyed for the rest of their lives. She felt helpless and sick to her core.

She shook her head at the Avox who offered her a glass of champagne. She didn't feel very festive. It had never occurred to her how sick and twisted it was to have a dance floor in the same room as deals were done for the lives of Tributes… She supposed it just exemplified the difference in how the Capitol and the Districts viewed the Games… the Capitol twirled in the lap of extravagance whilst the Districts prayed the odds would be in the favour of their children.

She saw Haymitch approach her, glass in hand, a slight swagger in his step that looked a little too practiced to be real. "Wanna dance, Trinket?" He asked.

There was only a hint of alcohol on his breath. He was staying true to the promise he'd made and staying as sober as he possibly could. "I don't feel much like dancing, Haymitch," she replied, training her eyes back onto the screen.

"Effie, now," he muttered, his tone urgent.

He'd certainly piqued her interest. In years gone by, Effie used to force him onto the dance floor, if only so that she could prove that he was in attendance at these events and not just drunk in a corner. She supposed it wouldn't be too unusual for them to dance together. She accepted his hand.

The noise on the dance floor allowed them a reasonable amount of freedom to speak. Most couples were completely absorbed in themselves and the music was just loud enough to blur the sounds of conversation. "Are they completely mad?" Effie asked. "Or is this alliance just going to get them killed?"

Haymitch twirled Effie with a surprising amount of grace, then pulled her back in against his body. "Effie, listen to me," he whispered. His tone brooked total obedience. She hung onto his every word. "I am going to walk out of this room at ten minutes until Midnight. Five minutes afterwards, you need to do the same. Get to the roof. Don't stop. Don't talk to anybody. If somebody stops you and you can't get there by exactly Midnight, don't bother. Get the hell out and find a place to hide. Do you understand me?"

The urgency with which Haymitch spoke made Effie's stomach churn uncomfortably. Perhaps she'd bitten off more than she could chew. "Five minutes until Midnight," she replied. "I can do that."

She didn't know where he'd learned to dance, but he effortlessly dipped her, eliciting a gasp from a few of the surrounding couples. "I like your dress," he teased, pulling her back up and striding off the dance floor, heading over to the boring Sponsor she'd been chatting to earlier that evening.

* * *

Out of the corner of her eye, Effie watched Haymitch walk out of the room. His pace was totally casual, as if he just needed a breath of fresh air. She doubted anybody had noticed him leave. They were all glued to the screen. The wire had been wrapped around the tree and Katniss was giving Peeta a kiss that did not appear to be entirely for the benefit of the cameras before departing with Johanna.

This was it. It was the moment that would spark whatever it was that Haymitch had been sneaking off to do. Dimly, Effie wondered if the children even knew what they were causing.

She spied the time. It was time for her to leave. She gracefully walked toward the door, trying earnestly to be nonchalant enough to not attract any attention.

She ignored the screens that lined the hallways, a bloodied and bleeding Katniss on display, crouched in the trees. She was almost at the roof. She picked up her pace. She could see Katniss wrapping the wire around the arrow from the corner of her eye and Effie knew, _knew _deep down in her gut that she needed to be far, far away from the Capitol when the repercussions of Katniss's actions exploded across the Capitol.

Effie was running now, her heels clacking loudly against the concrete floor of the hallway as she bolted for the door that led to the roof.

She was just about to swing the door open when she felt the electrical bite of a Peacekeeper's Taser.

She was wrenched to her feet roughly, the hands that groped her tight enough to bruise. "Eyes bright, Escort," the voice of Romulus Thread growled in her ear. "Don't forget to play nice for the cameras."

* * *

She was just managing to regain control of her limbs when she was dragged through the front door of the Gamemaking Centre. Cameras were flashing everywhere. She knew the most sensible option would be to go along quietly with the Peacekeepers. She would certainly be more likely to keep her dignity that way. A hovercraft, not unlike the one that retrieved dead Tributes from the arena flew over her head. She was supposed to be on that hovercraft. She was supposed to be getting far, far away from here.

Weakness was unacceptable. She needed to be brave. Brave like Katniss. Thread had a painfully tight grip on her right arm. Adrenaline flooding her system, she raised three of her fingers to her lips and kissed them. This was her act of defiance. She raised her hand into the air, staring down the barrel of a camera. It was clear she was going down, but she was going to go down fighting.

As she was shoved roughly towards a Peacekeeper issue car, her head was smacked against the door and she saw black.

* * *

It was the searing pain in her skull that first woke her. Everything hurt and she could taste blood in her mouth.

She slowly opened her eyes, taking in her surroundings. They were underground, that was clear. There was only the dim light of a single lightbulb, flicking incessantly, creating shadows through the bars that locked Effie into a space no bigger than a closet.

"Effie," a voice pleaded. "Effie, please, wake up!"

She knew that voice. That voice belonged to Peeta. Despite the roiling of her stomach, she moved toward the sound of his pleas. "Peeta, I'm okay," she sighed. She reached for his hand through the bars that separated, gripping his hand tightly.

"Effie, what's happening?" Peeta asked, his eyes wide and fearful. His body was littered with cuts and bruises, all badges of honour from the Arena. "Why are we being locked up?"

Effle slipped her other arm through the bars, gathering Peeta against her as best as she could. "I don't know," she confessed. "But Haymitch knows that we're here, and I promise, everything will be alright."

* * *

**The end... please don't throw things at me *ducks and hides***

**Come and play, my pretties! brookemopolitan on both twitter and tumblr. I promise I don't bite... too hard :)**

**I'd love to hear your thoughts... I'm seriously considering doing some Mockingjay stuff in this universe, but need a bit of a push haha**


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